


the original lifeline

by hysteries



Category: Ready or Not (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Pining, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:54:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28141974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hysteries/pseuds/hysteries
Summary: Family and blood above all else — or so Daniel Le Domas has been taught. But his brother's wedding calls those very concepts into question, and the bride has her own plans for how the evening will end.( Or, Grace's special day turns into the Red Wedding, and Daniel Le Domas makes the choice between family and honour)
Relationships: Daniel Le Domas/Grace Le Domas
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	the original lifeline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Highsmith (quimtessence)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/gifts).



The night before the wedding, he looks down and sees blood in the streets.

At first, it looks like rainwater pooled over the stones, black and shining in torchlight. But the colour’s too dark, and it won’t catch light like water does. It creeps forward slowly. Viscous and thick. Like something with purpose; with body. He blinks a bleary pair of eyes as it fills the gaps between the cobblestones, leaving a trail pointing towards the castle.

Towards him.

Blood should have bodies, or at the very least, a body, but there’s not one in sight. Just darkness and stone and the blood. When he breathes in, he can taste it on the back of his tongue, tangy and heavy. He rears back to retch –

And wakes up alone in his bed.

“Her dress is finer than she has any right to wear,” Daniel’s sister sniffs.

Emily might be right, but the bride’s so blinding that he can’t see how anyone would care. The bastard-born daughter of the South wears white and gold and, when the Sun catches her, she glows.

Alex has no fucking idea how lucky he is.

He might think she was his choice, but she wasn’t, not really. Alex is dense – not that it’s his fault. He was made that way. Second-born son, baked to perfection in an oven of wealth with a last-minute coating of hedonism. He wasn’t born to think or question or wonder. That’s all Daniel’s domain. Alex, he’s always been allowed to fall in love. To see the world through blue eyes and embrace it with open arms, without any fear of having it ripped away. It’s been Daniel’s job to make sure of that. 

Until now. Until Alex’s gaze landed on a pawn placed directly in his path by their mother and he saw it as a queen. Stupid. Even Daniel can’t protect him from this.

The wedding is a stupid, gaudy affair. Nothing compared to Daniel’s, with every cardinal and minor lord in attendance, but nevertheless, the Le Domas paid no expense for their prized golden boy. Around them, there are thousands candles throwing light across every jewel and tapestry they could fit in the hall. Paintings of ancestors long-dead stare at the proceedings, accompanied by a motley assembly of nobles and upstarts. A bishop drones on and promises eternal life through love.

When Daniel looks at the floor, he swears for half a second there’s another pool of blood.

But he blinks and it’s gone, and he knows that it’s just another sign of what’s to come. It’s a testament to Alex’s naivety that he doesn’t see it. Marry the baseborn ward of your family’s greatest enemies, the ones whose lands your father’s coveted for a generation, and reap those rewards.

He looks back up at the bride, and there’s no hallucinating the shadow behind her. Fingers, long and black, reach out to take her by the shoulder. The promise of a death soon to come.

What a fucking mess.

He hasn’t had enough to drink, not yet, because Daniel can’t block out what’s in front of him. The lamb, led to the slaughter, offering his brother a grin so bright that it shines.

“I do,” she promises, “I’m yours.”

And if only she knew what she was promising that to. Whose she was promising to become.

Daniel has half a mind to stride forward and tell her, to shake some sense into his brother’s head, but the moment passes before the thought’s even flit across his mind. Alex cups his little bride’s face and kisses her, and that’s that. They’re wed.

She’s his.

Or, more aptly. What’s hers in Le Doma, now and forever. She just doesn’t know it yet.

“You can’t sit here all night.”

Alex is drunk already – Daniel can hear it in the upward swing of his voice. Not that he can blame him. Daniel drank himself into a stupor on his own wedding night, barely able to make it upstairs for the consummation portion of the evening. But if that were his bride, shedding light across the ballroom, Daniel would want to be alert as possible. To keep his senses open and free, to be with her in spirit as well as body.

“I can, actually. And you know – I think I will.”

He raises his goblet in his brother’s direction, a mockery of his father’s earlier toast.

“Santé!”

And there it goes, the rest of the ruby-red wine, trickling oh-so-sweet down his throat.

Alex sways on his feet, inching closer until he’s leaning across the table.

“If I can dance at my wife’s funeral, then you can too.”

No.

He’s not meant to know, can’t know. Alex had to be kept in the dark for the plot to succeed, because no man would let his bride die on their wedding night. Daniel’s throat seizes; dries up so he has nothing to say.

His brother’s mouth curves into a sharp white smile.

“For the family, isn’t it?” That smile stays stiff. “Isn’t it all?”

“Alex —”

“No. Don’t.” He brings a hand to his mouth, making to wipe it. Daniel’s not sure if Alex is trying to clear off the wine or that terrible smirk. “Like a lamb to the slaughter. That’s what Mother said.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

A lie. As much as he likes to pretend, Alex is as much a pawn of the family name as he is. If they want his pretty wife’s head on a platter to serve up to her family, then Alex will line up behind and stay quiet.

“I know. But I will.”

He flashes Daniel another smirk and, briefly, Daniel doesn’t recognize the man in front of him. He’s not the boy he read stories to each night, not the little brother he rescued from the tree in Mother’s courtyard. He’s got death in his eyes.

Daniel wonders if that’s what he looks like too.

“Enjoy the night, brother.” He lifts the goblet again, this time forcefully knocking it against Daniel’s. “While you still can.”

Daniel follows the turn of his head towards the Lady Grace, who twirls and spins at the center of the floor. His eyes don’t leave her even as Alex speaks again.

“It will be one to remember.”

The next time Daniel sees her, she no longer glows.

Her dress, so brilliantly white, is stained dirt-brown and wine-red. The skirts underneath look matted and shredded, like they’ve been cut to pieces with a hack job. That some rusty-red on her gown colours her skin, as far as Daniel can see it. From clavicle to scalp, she’s stained with droplets of blood. Even her hair, that golden stuff, is pulled back and shaded dark. Like whatever’s happened to her has consumed her entirely, birthing her anew.

His sword is dangling from his side, untouched and clean. His father would be furious if he saw. _Kill them all_ , he’d said, thrusting the daggers towards Daniel and Alex. _Make quick work of it, and there’ll be reward in the morning_.

So far, what Daniel’s done is stand uselessly in the gore and grime around him. Lagged to the side as La Doma knight slaughtered Lady Grace’s men, moving only to grab more wine where he could.

“Please!”

Her voice is a shriek. She doesn’t stop until she’s right here in front of him and barrels directly into his chest. She’s no hallucination or drunken dream, but flesh and blood. Soon to be not much more than that.

“Please! You must help me.”

He reels back. Too used to seeing her from a distance, blazing in front of him, just out of touch. To have her here, her hands grasping at his shirt; it’s overwhelming. He can feel everything.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean?” Her hands come to rest against his chest, but they don’t rest easy. She tears at the linen he wore to bed, pulling him all the closer. He was meant to wear armour, to prepare himself for war. Call this laziness or rebellion, but all Daniel’s got is his nightshirt.

“Please. I need to hide.”

“Lady —“ He starts, but he stops himself as he catches movement behind her. Before he can even identify the shape, he acts on instinct and pulls her even closer against him. He slinks into the alcove at his side (where once, he split liquor with Alex and they toasted to his eighteenth Saints day) and holds her there.

He doesn’t need to press a hand to her mouth. She seems to realize what he’s done before he does and stays quiet.

They stand like that, pressed together in silence, until he hears the shadow move past them. He waits another few minutes, counting out the seconds, until he can be sure that their company’s gone for good. All the while, Lady Grace is there, head tucked against his chest and reeking of blood.

“I can’t save you,” he whispers, looking studiously at the wall in front of him. It would be impossible to say the words and meet her eyes.

“Yes, you can.”

There’s something in her voice, steely and assured. Almost militant, like commanders he’s followed into worse battles than this.

“They’ve ordered your death. No one will rest until you — and your people — are buried in the dirt.”

If he were Alex, he’d be kind.

He is not Alex.

“But why?”

“You know why.” She’s no fool, this little bride of his brother. “You have something they want. You provide the means to win it.”

“They can’t think to claim my land. I have none!”

“It’s not yours they want. Your uncle, once he hears what’s befallen you, will get desperate. Sue for peace. Offer anything, so long as he keeps his precious castle.”

“You think he cares so little for me?”

Those are the first words that have genuinely surprised him and, in his shock, he looks down to meet her eyes. They’re creased at the edges, determined and hard.

“I think he’s as much a survivor as the rest of us.”

She’s quiet at that, for one long second that bleeds into another. Daniel wonders if his point’s been made.

“Then help me anyways, because it’s the right thing to do.”

Whatever he expected to hear from her, it wasn’t that.

“I’m no hero.” Not like the man she’s married. Or, the man she thought she married.

“I can do nothing, Lady _Le Doma_ ,” he emphasizes the name, mouth quirking at the sound of it.

“Yes, you can. You’re just did.”

He’s still holding her, he realizes. Hand splayed against the curve of her back, the other pressed against her shoulder. Keeping her in place, shielding her with his body.

“A reflex,” he argues back.

“That might have just saved my life.”

They’re as close as she was to Alex at the altar, hours ago. It’s overwhelming.

“You’re asking me to betray my family.”

“I’m asking you to preserve our peace.”

“A war’s a war.”

“And we are not at war.”

Back and forth they go, words bitten and curt. His head’s still spinning from what he’d done moments ago, how he’d betrayed his family so easy. He pulled her into hiding when he should’ve put a knife in her throat.

He’s a fool.

“If, _if_ , I aided you, I’d be signing my own death warrant.”

He doesn’t know why he even says that. What he’s thinking of, beyond the hardness in the set of her face.

“If you aided me, you’d be freeing me from mine.”

She offers no promises. No free passage to her home, no greater liberation from his sins. Just fact, laid bare in front of him. And her eyes, bluer than any he’s seen before, bore into his. Like she’s looking at Daniel and seeing beyond his skin.

“I’ll accompany you no further than the castle walls.”

He means that hypothetically, still wrapped up in the _if_ of it all, but the Lady Grace doesn’t hear that. She starts to glow again, smiling brilliantly up at him.

“Thank you!”

He thinks she might hug him, if they weren’t already wrapped together. That’s the final straw, the brilliance of her smile. He sighs deeply.

“Don’t thank me until you’re home.”

Without waiting for an answer, he leans back and peers out from the alcove. There’s no one there. Just piled bodies against the walls and abandoned weapons on the floor. What might’ve been horrific minutes earlier looks like a clean exit route now.

“Alright. With me, then.”

As he pushes off from the wall, he feels her grab his hand. Their palms press together. His is sweaty, hers is sticky with blood. He should keep looking forward, keep his senses alert for anyone skulking out of the shadows. But he doesn’t. He turns to look at her again.

She just nods in reply.

Hand-in-hand, he tugs her forward, and starts to lead her down the hallway. To bloodshed, or freedom, or more likely, some combination of the two. With every step forward he takes, he stabs a knife into his family’s back.

And somehow, he realizes, he doesn’t care. 

**Author's Note:**

> This story was very much inspired by the characters from Ready or Not (2019), but with the aesthetics and setting of both the St. Bartholomew's Massacre in La Reine Margot (1994) and Game of Thrones' Red Wedding. It's a marriage between a historical AU and a fantasy AU, focusing especially on the exceedingly complicated hate-love-respect-disgust dynamic between Daniel and Grace.
> 
> I'm so, so happy to have gotten to work on this prompt! Ready or Not is one of my favourite horror movies in recent years, and I wanted to use gothic fantasy as a way to delve into Daniel (and, by extension, Grace) as a character. They parallel and contradict each other in really interesting ways that extend beyond the actual events in the movie. Thank you to Highsmith for the prompt, and my beloved betas for the editing! And a very, very happy Yuletide to everyone!


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